Whispers and Rumours
by Rilwen-Shadowflame
Summary: The Fall and Rise of the House of Malfoy. After the Second Wizarding War, there are many consequences left for Lucius, Narcissa and Draco to endure. Still, they are determined to make it through.
1. Initial Consequences

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all characters therein belong to J K Rowling, not me.  
Reviews welcomed.  
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**Whispers and Rumours  
**_The Fall and Rise of the House of Malfoy_

The whispering bothers him sometimes. Draco Malfoy goes about his business, day after day, and tries to ignore it. They know what he was. He knows that they know it. He can see it in their eyes. He watches, sometimes, as their gaze drops to his sleeve-shielded forearm with a kind of sick fascination, knowing what lies beneath the cloth.

Always, after they do this, he knows what comes next. The stares become far more hostile as they return to his face. It's at that point, if he can, that he makes his excuses and leaves.

The only company who don't shun him are a few of his former House members. Many, of course, with typical Slytherin pragmatism, have severed ties with him to protect their own reputations. He doesn't begrudge it of them. It's what he would have done in their place.

He tries not to make a scene. He doesn't want to draw attention to himself, not after seeing what happened to Goyle. Feelings were still running hot, just after the war had ended, and Goyle was never very good at hiding himself.

Always so large, always standing out, Gregory Goyle had drawn the ire of those who had suffered because of his father... or because of his own brief career in service to the Dark Lord. Evading a sentence in Azkaban hadn't helped him much after all.

Goyle speaks even less than he used to, these days. With his father dead in the Battle of Hogwarts, there was no one but Draco to collect him from St. Mungo's. He works for Draco, now, maintaining the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Draco keeps him fed and sheltered. Draco gives him somewhere away from the anger of others, and a familiar face to respond to.

It's something Draco feels he needs to do. Crabbe's shadow falls over his mind too often. He can't do anything about Crabbe except wake in the night, wondering with a shudder how it feels to burn alive amid your own curse. He can't do anything about Crabbe, but he _can_ do this much for Goyle, at least.

"_That side?"_

"_Yes, Goyle. Trim the grass on that side of the grounds today."_

_A sound that Draco had learned indicated an affirmative followed, and Goyle trudged off to do his job. It had taken a while to teach him what to do, but once he'd learned, he seemed to derive some kind of childlike pleasure from making the grounds look better._

_He had never been the brightest soul at Hogwarts, and the attack hadn't helped. Curse scars standing out lividly against his skin, Goyle would never fit in elsewhere again, or adjust to an independent life._

Draco is glad of the manor's protection. No matter how its masters have fallen in the public estimation, ancient and powerful enchantments swathe the grounds. Draco is protected there from most potential reprisals, as is Goyle. Draco's parents, too, remain there, in comparative safety.

***

Lucius Malfoy no longer leaves the manor. At times he feels stifled by it. At times no amount of effort by his family can soothe the terrible restlessness he feels. He feels stifled, but cannot leave, because beyond those walls, everything is gone.

They barely kept the manor. Lucius knows he barely evaded a return to Azkaban, and he shudders every time he remembers _that_ place – oh, sure, there wouldn't be _Dementors_ there anymore, but the _memories_...

He hates to even think of that place. The utter, twisted irony of failing the Dark Lord so utterly that imprisonment within those walls was safer than being outside them... and the things that place took from him. He doesn't speak of it to Narcissa. He doesn't tell her that toward the end, he could barely remember her face, and only her visits kept him sane.

She is his happiest memory. She is all the goodness and warmth the Dementors tried to leach from his world. Now free, the memories he'd thought lost have returned, and he guards them almost jealously. He will never again lose a single thought of Narcissa or of Draco.

Though, he does want to forget some things. He wants to forget the agonising wait, knowing his son had been sent into peril in order to punish him. He wants to forget that dreadful time of wondering if he'd ever see his son alive again. He wants to forget, also, the pain he suffered at every capricious whim of the Dark Lord, who seemed to have deemed him only of sufficient consequence to periodically Cruciate with all the malice in that darkened heart, where once Lucius had been his valued and noted follower.

He cannot leave the manor. Outside it... they _know_. People know what he did and what he was and the respect, the awe, the deference are gone, replaced by contempt or outright hatred.

"_Murderer." Lucius didn't look around. They'd only get worse if he did._

"_Dunno why he's not in Azkaban."_

"_They say he changed sides, but I hafta doubt that. Saw who was winning, more likely."_

_Lucius did his best not to listen to the gossip erupting behind him. Once, he reflected bitterly, he could have swept through the streets like a prince, and no matter what anyone thought, they'd never have dared to speak like this. Now, he was fodder for insults and loathing._

After a few abortive attempts to leave, he has largely given up. He considers it far better to stay inside, after all, than to be the sudden and mysterious victim of some astonishingly unwitnessed curse.

In some ways, it stings at him. This manor, the place that should have been his unquestioned home, is where he was confined, by order of the Dark Lord. Now, the Dark Lord is gone. Lucius should be free, and yet he finds himself confined just as much by public opinion as he ever was by his former master.

***

Narcissa keeps her head held high, no matter what. She is a daughter of the House of Black, a wife of the House of Malfoy, and she does not back down just because somebody else thinks she should.

There are times when she does not feel as strong as she acts. One of her sisters is dead. The other no longer speaks to her. The prestige of her family is shattered. Still, she has her husband and her son, and she already risked everything for both of them. They need her, and they need her strength, and so she refuses to crumble.

These others who sneer and glare... they have no idea what she has done. They have no idea of the risks she's taken, and what the consequences would have been for them if she had not. Could they have faced down the Dark Lord, lied to so skilled a Legilimens? She thinks not.

She could protest, of course, and declare her part in their proud victory far and wide, but she utterly refuses to give them that satisfaction. They will never know that they have affected her in any way. She's stronger than that, and prouder.

Some of them try to thwart her in petty little ways, but she disregards such things with all of the aristocratic composure at her disposal. She can withstand their efforts. They'll lose interest eventually, and where they back down, she will be left strong.

"_We're all out," the shopkeeper declared, studiously avoiding Narcissa's gaze._

"_Of bread?" The faintest hint of incredulity touched her voice._

"_Of bread, and rice, and potatoes. We're all out," he repeated._

"_I see. My apologies, then, for calling attention to so embarrassing a lack in your establishment. I'm sure you'll be able to restock very soon," Narcissa said, ever so graciously. With the merest, most precise little nod, she turned and walked out. _

_After a pause, however, she allowed herself to glance back in the window, out of the corner of her eye. Inside, the shopkeeper was dutifully toting bread and other essentials out from beneath the counter and returning them to the shelves._

_Lips pressed tightly together, Narcissa kept walking. She'd find somewhere else._

She knows she mustn't waver. Her stability gives strength to Lucius and Draco. Her composure restores their own. She loves them above all else, and if that means standing a little straighter when she wants to slink away and hide, so be it.

She will not back down. She will not lower her head in shame, or apologise for who she is. Because no matter what she has lost, she is Narcissa Malfoy, and she has her family. She is Narcissa Malfoy, born Narcissa Black, and she has her pride. It is enough.


	2. Building Bridges

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, not me.

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He's trapped. Draco Malfoy looks around, trying to calculate a way out of this. No escape in sight, not if he wants to keep his dignity. He closes his eyes for the barest moment, resigning himself to the unpleasantness that's sure to follow.

"Draco? Draco Malfoy?" The voice isn't one he'd been expecting. He turns, and sees a young, dark-haired witch with a friendly smile. "I wonder if you might remember me?"

He frowns for a moment, searching his memory. "You're... Daphne's sister, aren't you? Astoria, wasn't it?"

"Yes." A hint of delight flickers into her expression at being remembered so quickly.

"I remember you from Hogwarts." Taking this excellent opportunity, Draco gestures elegantly to her in an offer to take a walk. The gathering had begun to turn frosty, and he'd heard the first few resentful mutterings about his presence. There had been no chance to leave smoothly, but with Astoria beside him, he has an excuse to put some diplomatic distance between himself and those searching for reasons to confront him. "You'll have graduated now, no? Did you do well?"

"Oh, well enough." She walks with him readily, smiling up at him.

"I'm glad to hear it."

They exchange pleasantries for a while longer, as though trying to get some kind of sense for each other. It's the way of many who've been in Slytherin, this wary amiability – the silken veil draped over a knife, just in case. And Draco has seen too much not to fall back upon that wariness. Even now, caution is what keeps him alive.

At last, the gathering ends, people going their own ways. Draco feels an odd reluctance to leave just yet. Unlike many, Astoria shows no hostility, no apparent compulsion to denounce him for his former activities.

It's a rare occasion, and he feels a strong urge to prolong it. Still, eventually even playing for time will no longer avail them.

"I have to go. I hope I'll see you again." She smiles at him, coaxing a smile in return.

"I hope so too," he says, quite honestly.

And then, she is gone, and he is making his way home, for once cheered by even this brief connection to another person.

***

"I need to speak with one of your Aurors." The words do not come easily to Lucius.

"Oh, you do, do you?" The woman sighs, and walks away from her desk, returning with one of the few individuals whose arrival could possibly make this any more difficult.

Harry Potter looks back at Lucius, expression carefully neutral. "Yes?"

"Mr Potter." A sharp, precise nod accompanies this greeting. "I... find myself in a position to reveal something to you."

"What would that be?"

Finally, Lucius is on more solid ground. "The location and purpose of a number of Dark artefacts. I would assume you would want such things taken away safely, after all. I can help, there."

"Why?" Potter is curious, Lucius can tell.

Lucius shrugs. "To be entirely and uncharacteristically blunt, I tire of constant suspicion. In order to prove it is no longer necessary, I suspect it would be advisable of me to assist you."

It works. He's led further inside, where he answers readily all of the questions put to him, helpfully volunteering extra information where necessary. It grates upon his sensibilities to reveal such ancient objects to the grasping hands of bureaucracy, but he puts aside his distaste. It is a matter of pragmatism, after all; even a small improvement in his current circumstances is worth a thousand such ancient treasures.

"_Be very careful with that goblet," he informed one of the Aurors standing with him in the cave. "If you tap it with anything metallic, it will chime like a bell, and none of us will wake up again, except the one holding it."_

_The man nodded silently, carefully wrapping the goblet in a length of fabric before stowing it in a wooden case._

"_No cure for that sleep?" one of the other Aurors asked curiously._

"_Being given water from the goblet by its holder. But most haven't been inclined to do so." Lucius was in his element now, feeling rather more comfortable. He'd been raised to feel connected to matters of history. Items like this one were well within his field of expertise. "The goblet was placed here by a deaf man, immune to its sounds, when its last owner foolishly dropped it upon a metal railing, sending himself and seven others to sleep, ten years ago. I will spare you its full history, which is far longer."_

_A dark-haired Auror froze. "Some of those people are still being kept alive in St. Mungo's. This could wake them?" An odd note of hope touched his voice._

"_If they're still alive, yes, water from the goblet will wake them."_

_The Auror met Lucius's eyes. "One of those people is my sister. Thank you."_

It will be a long road for those awakened, to regain their lives after ten years asleep; but they have that chance. Lucius has discovered that the Auror to whom he spoke took that job specifically out of a desire to prevent curses from destroying any more lives the way the goblet did for his sister.

He knows that the news is spreading. Even beyond his assistance with the other artefacts, it will be known that it was his doing that these people have their waking lives back again.

He can only hope that this will help matters for him. Oh, he feels some relief for them – he can imagine his own anguish if it were Narcissa or Draco – but nevertheless, he too wants his life back. For that to happen, the hostility must lessen, and so doing deeds that gain public approval is a suitable step. Unlike the ones whose curse has now ended, the restoration of his life will require considerably more time than that required to tip a magic goblet.

***

Narcissa sighs. What she's doing now is entirely necessary, she feels. However, she wishes it were easier.

"And I suppose you were wanting it named after your family."

"No, of course not." The scepticism stings her. "That would be wrong. This isn't about what will make us famous, or our names. This is part of the debt we owe to these people."

The Healer seems to soften, very slightly. "Correct. I'll have to speak to others about this, but if you really do mean this in the way you've told me, there shouldn't be a problem."

It's just as well, Narcissa muses, that the family money came to her. Part went her way initially, but she now has the Galleons previously belonging to Bellatrix, too, which means that not just Black money, but Lestrange money has come to Narcissa. As a result, she can afford her current gesture; a new ward at St. Mungo's for the victims of the war, and specialised treatment expressly for them.

She had not, however, expected her efforts to be derided as they were. It had been initially dismissed as a 'typical Malfoy gesture'; throwing Galleons at a problem to buy their way back into favour.

The hospital, however, needs all the funds it can get; it's in no position to turn down her largesse merely because of who gave it.

Her next judicious use of family funds has slightly different motivation, though no less obligation. The Galleons are transferred both to one who should have gained some originally, and to the child being raised by that person.

Andromeda, disowned or not, is family, and little Teddy Lupin, no matter where his other ancestry lies, is also family... and will need support of many kinds since the war took his parents from him. Financial support is the only kind Narcissa can give, but she gives it nevertheless.

It's done discreetly, care taken to be sure the source is not identified. She doesn't want Andromeda rejecting the money out of pride.

"_You're very recognisable, you know."_

_Narcissa turned, startled, as Andromeda spoke. "I beg your pardon?"_

"_You were remembered. I asked around. It wasn't hard to work out where that many Galleons came from." Andromeda's tone sharpened a little. "Why?"_

"_...You're my sister. And the baby... he's family too." Narcissa's voice became quieter. "We owe it to you, and to him. For everything that happened." To her sister, she could admit the things that she was far too proud to say to any other._

"_If you think you can buy yourself a clean conscience, you're wrong. But if you really mean that..." Andromeda's expression softened slightly. "Thank you."_

_Narcissa lowered her eyes for a moment. "If you'll accept them... my apologies, and my condolences, for their loss."_

_Andromeda's eyes widened, and something in her expression seemed to crack as she wrapped her arms around her sister. "I miss them every day," she whispered, before the tears broke free._

They stand there for some time; Narcissa doesn't know how long, only recalling the tears and tight embrace as they release sorrow as one. She has missed her sister, though doing her 'family duty' in disowning and subsequently avoiding her so many years ago. She remembers so much from before then, however, when they stood united, shielding each other against the excesses of their mad eldest sister Bellatrix.

When, at last, they part, there are no harsh words this time. The past is gone, both good and bad... but at least there might be a future.


	3. Hunted by History

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is J K Rowling's, I make no profit and just do this for fun.  
**A/N**: Some characters named in this chapter are OCs created for the purpose of the plot. They were added after much thought and I feel that their existence is plausible.

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Astoria comes to their home often, these days. At first, Draco is unsure if she is really sincere in the things he thinks he can pick up from her. Still, she brings far more cheer to the manor.

She speaks to Draco's parents with that lovely combination of respect and wit that they've missed of late, and her jokes actually bring laughter to frequently sombre rooms. She's beautiful, intelligent, charming and from a good family. Draco, still shaken by the war, keeps expecting the other broom to drop. There has to be a catch, somewhere. At the very least he's reading far too much into those little smiles she gives him.

And then, one day, she removes all doubt, with a sudden and very surprising kiss as they wander in the garden. She then proceeds to confound and ensnare his mental processes with the self-effacing little giggle as she apologises for being so unladylike, but states that she felt she had to deliver some sign that couldn't be missed.

He should feel insulted that his quick mind is being discounted. He's too busy smiling like a lunatic at her demonstration instead.

"_Astoria, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," Draco began, a little nervously._

"_Yes?" Her eyes widened a little as he pulled the distinctive little box from his pocket and opened it._

"_Marry me?" He waited for her response, each moment seeming like an eternity._

"_Of course!" She flung herself at him, dignity dissolving as she wrapped her arms around him, smiling broadly._

Their engagement makes him happier than he'd thought possible. She loves him, and he doesn't even care what anyone else thinks of him right now, because he has found the one opinion that actually matters.

***

Far from the home of the Malfoys, in a dark and dingy room, opinions very much contrary to Draco's or Astoria's are being expressed. The men there are a sinister lot, the kind one would steer clear of, and for good reason; more than one of them is hiding from the repercussions of having whole-heartedly served Voldemort in the war, and the rest had held sympathies that way inclined too, though with less direct action.

"You 'ear what 'e's been up to?" One of the men spits in disgust. "Prancin' around like an 'ero, sellin' out 'is old Master. Aurors gettin' 'is 'elp all the time, now."

"Stinking traitor to the cause, that one," another agrees. "Something oughtta be done about him."

"Agreed." A third nods sharply. "We cannot bring the Dark Lord back. The least we can do in his memory, however, is avenge his betrayal by that scum, Malfoy."

"Not just a single one," the second contradicts. "You heard the stories, his bitch wife lied for Harry stinking Potter, his son turned coat too. We get them _all_."

"_Yes_," the first agrees fiercely. "All three're traitors, so all three deserve t'die."

"We are agreed, then," the third concludes. "Lucius, Narcissa and Draco must die." He pauses. "And any who are close to them."

This brings rowdy shouts of approval from every man in the room.

***

When Lucius looks at his son around Astoria, he remembers what it was like in the early days with Narcissa, and the giddy joy of their newfound closeness. He's happy for Draco, more so than he can truly say, because if there is one thing in Lucius's life that was never a mistake, one path he can never regret if Draco follows his footsteps in it, it is the deep and abiding love Lucius discovered, that has remained with him for all this time. He only hopes Draco will be as lucky there as he was.

He's grateful to Astoria, because she makes Draco happy. He likes her personally, too; she's self-possessed and intelligent, definitely deserving of being brought into the family.

He can't help but remember when he first got to know Narcissa. Oh, he'd been aware of her before that, but never quite with the same attention that he found himself directing her way on one fortunate trip to Hogsmeade, where he happened to overhear one of her quietly clever little observations to a friend, and subsequently discovered the dry, understated wit she'd been concealing beneath that distant, cool exterior.

She, in turn, to hear her mention it now, had been flattered enough at the attention to share some of the comments she'd thought of many times but had never quite found a suitable audience for. He'd returned every witty little volley with one of his own, and they had returned to Hogwarts that day with considerably more admiration for one another.

Lucius chuckles quietly to himself, remembering the battles of wits by which they initially competed with one another, before finding themselves joining forces and sharing discreetly their opinions about others to the ears of someone guaranteed to appreciate a masterfully crafted and devastatingly accurate insult.

She was, and remains, his intellectual equal... perhaps even his superior, though he refuses to admit it and spoil their fun. Even after all this time, too, she is to him as beautiful as she was back then, when separately they had drawn admiring glances, together stares of envy, and at many points distinct appreciation of how well their looks complemented each other.

He's pragmatic enough to admit that he can be vain. He's vain enough to still feel very pleased whenever she calls him handsome. He's in love enough and truthful enough to call her beautiful in return each time.

***

"How do we get into the manor? It's sure to be protected."

"One can Apparate in," Carlen Lewiston says impatiently. "We Apparate just outside it, then in once we have a good view. That way we bypass the protection." He reminds himself that his band of helpers were not all trained in tactics. He has to walk them through this.

Lewiston recalls an event that had turned out to be more good fortune than he'd thought. Wounded before the Battle of Hogwarts, he was unable to take part, and thus avoided being captured, unlike most of his fellow Death Eaters.

Now, he can use that freedom to make up in some small way for not being there when the Dark Lord needed him to fight.

"When?" Rourke asks him eagerly.

"Tomorrow night. Get everyone together."

Lewiston smiles to himself as Rourke and Cathmoore hurry off. It's almost like having power again, like having the authority and obedience followers of the Dark Lord could demand from ordinary people. Those days are over, of course, but tomorrow night, the old days are going to be given one last, rousing farewell.

***

"Are you sure you won't stay? We have plenty of room, after all," Narcissa says.

Astoria smiles slightly. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd love to stay here for the night."

"You'll have a room readied," Narcissa assures her. Astoria spending time here makes Draco happier, and so Narcissa encourages it whenever possible.

The young woman beams, and heads off to let her fiancé know that she'll be staying over for the night.

Narcissa smiles to herself, watching her go. The fact that the wedding will make Astoria her daughter-in-law actually pleases her; if she'd ever had a daughter of her own, she'd want one like this. As it is, she can only commend Draco on his very good choice, but that will be enough.

She can remember her own wedding day, as clearly as if it were yesterday despite the intervening years. The memory always makes her smile a little. Normally so smooth and self-possessed, Lucius had looked as though she'd just Confunded him when she walked down the aisle to his side. From the whole of her life, that's one of the happiest memories, the ones that stand out no matter what other things happen.

***

Draco shouldn't be up this late, he suspects. Nor should he be creeping into his fiancée's room. Still, she did encourage him, and he doesn't intend anything untoward; all he wants to do is sit, arms around her, and talk until they fall asleep.

He hears a muffled 'crack' from outside, unmistakably the sound of Apparition. He creeps to the window, and sees several shadowy figures creeping across the grounds toward the house.

Draco Malfoy was only a Death Eater for a very short time, but his instincts are very finely tuned. Abandoning his previous goal, he slips away to wake and warn his parents.

_Lewiston gestured silently, and the others followed him. Up to the door they went, and then beyond it, moving like dark ghosts through the silent halls of Malfoy Manor. Their objectives were simple; locate the Malfoys, and then kill them._

_At such a late hour, they'd surely be asleep, helpless and wandless. Lewiston pondered what he'd do once they were dead. Perhaps, he thought, the Dark Mark should see flight in the air one last time, as a kind of supreme irony concerning the victims. He smiled grimly. He rather liked that idea._

_With the Dark Mark on his arm now lifeless, seeming a mere faded tattoo or scar, it had been much simpler to copy it onto some of his associates. Once the Malfoys were dead, if by some chance they managed to get an alert away of some kind, he'd hit one of the marked ones with an Anti-Disapparition Jinx, and let him take the fall for this as the 'renegade Death Eater only just captured.'_

_They slipped up the stairs, looking around contemptuously. The Malfoys had all this wealth passed down in an ancient pure-blood family, and yet they had thrown aside their history in favour of Mudbloods and other unworthy ones. Lewiston's lip curled. He'd never had even half the Malfoy wealth, but his family had managed to stay loyal anyway._

_Halfway through a doorway, Rourke suddenly halted, backing out of the room. Lewiston turned to see what was wrong, and froze for a moment as Narcissa Malfoy stepped through the doorway, wand raised, eyes flinty. From another room, Draco Malfoy emerged._

"_Get them!" Lewiston snarled, no longer caring for now unnecessary stealth, and the fight began._

Astoria hurries from her room, startled by the sounds of spells. She almost cries out as Lucius grabs her arm.

"Get to the fireplace," he hisses urgently to her. "Use the Floo network, get help."

There's no time to discuss it. Astoria nods sharply and runs from the battle, trying to reach the fireplace before she can be stopped. She hates to leave Draco in danger, but she can help him more by getting the word out.

With a surge of green fire, she's gone, and Lucius Malfoy turns his attention to these intruders within his home.

He's angry. Seething with rage at this intrusion. His wife and his son are in danger. This cannot be tolerated, and will not be endured.

With a lucky spell, Rourke manages to disarm Narcissa. He raises his wand, and she scrambles for her own, trying to reach it before he can cast his spell.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The shout rings out; the jet of green light strikes true. The battle pauses for a moment as the body falls to the floor.

Lucius smiles coldly. He was a Death Eater for a long time. He has not forgotten what he learned, and the current situation gives him more than enough reason to use it.

Lewiston gives Rourke's body the barest of glances before leaping into action to duel Lucius. Their spells fly through the air, curse after curse, defences hastily raised each time or spells dodged at the last moment. Lewiston is sweating, face twisted with hatred. Lucius, on the other hand, seems eerily calm.

"Traitor! Y'stupid little turncoat, just die already!" Cathmoore shouts at Draco.

"No." Draco almost smiles, side-steps a curse, and Stuns Cathmoore. He'd love to kill him, but they're going to need more than corpses to show the Ministry.

Lewiston screams suddenly in pain, as Lucius conjures a rope of fire, wrapping it around his body for a moment and destroying his wand in the process. As the fire vanishes, he falls to his knees, robes smoking. His remaining allies turn and flee.

Lucius walks over to him slowly. "They've made Azkaban more... humane, these days. But then, you never went there." His expression tightens. "I'm not inclined to let you live long enough to go there now."

Outside, there are the sounds of more spells. The Aurors have arrived, and are subduing those of Lewiston's companions who are trying to escape.

"You are luckier than you'll ever know. _Stupefy._" Lucius finally lowers his wand. The battle is over.

In its wake, over the next few days, comes a sudden strange sort of sympathy and approval. The Malfoys have come under attack from former Death Eaters and would-be Dark wizards, the public hears, for their efforts in changing their ways and helping the Ministry. And more; they stopped their attackers, bringing down a potential threat before any more people could be harmed.

It won't change public opinion entirely, but it's a start. The Malfoys know one has to start somewhere.

They don't entirely care just now, however. They're too busy being glad that they're all alive, and each vowing that no one will ever seek to harm their loved ones that way again. If this were known, people would do well to pay attention. Malfoy determination, after all, has been proven very, very strong indeed.


	4. New Beginnings

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, not me.

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His name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, and just now, it seems far too big for him. He'll grow into it with time. At the moment, however, his parents gaze, enraptured, at their new son. There isn't much Malfoy dignity in a squirming infant with a tiny tuft of pale hair, but he'll grow into that, too.

"Well, we can guess who he's going to resemble," Astoria observes wryly.

"I'd be happy either way," Draco notes, wearing a rather fatuous smile, of a sort most would have thought impossible for him.

_When Astoria announced that she was pregnant, there were all of the congratulations one might expect. Lucius and Narcissa were happy, of course._

_Draco just stared._

_Then, just when Astoria thought she might have to say something to get his attention, he beamed and came over, hugging her ever so lightly, as though her announcement had suddenly made her fragile beyond all reckoning._

"_I won't break, you know," she laughed._

_He looked as though he wanted to ask if she were sure on that, and she made a mental note; _accustom Draco to finer points of pregnancy and babies before he drives me mad with worrying over me. _It was sweet, really, but also unnecessary._

Astoria can't help but smile as she remembers Draco's uncertainty. She'd known why he'd felt that way, and loves him all the more for it. She loves him more for it because it had been uncertainty born of the need to get this _right._ 'What if I do something wrong?' She knows that Draco wants to be sure he's looking after them the 'right' way, even if he isn't sure what way that is.

That's okay, though. Astoria isn't sure either. She figures they can make it up as they go along. If the amount of love or good intent has _any_ weight at all, everything will turn out just fine.

***

There is an Obstacle. Scorpius Malfoy does not like this. The pouting three-year-old gazes wistfully up at the jar high on a nearby shelf. Biscuits come out of it, when Mummy's in a good mood. She's not here right now, though.

He wants biscuits anyway.

He toddles off, a child on a mission. His fine pale hair, still so light it stands up away from his head, gives the impression of an overly cute dandelion clock wandering the house.

At last, he reaches his goal. His grandfather is sitting, reading quietly. Scorpius arranges his face in the sad-eyed, pleading look he's discovered gets him all kind of things, and waits to be noticed.

Lucius looks past his book, a smile rising unbidden to his lips at the sight of his grandson. "What's the matter?"

Scorpius points into the kitchen. "Biskit _please_?"

Lucius stands automatically. "Come on, then." He picks Scorpius back up and carries him into the kitchen, over to the shelf, the Obstacle vanishing just like that once the toddler has someone tall to help.

As he picks out a biscuit, Scorpius giggles quietly to himself. He's seen Mummy call things from across the room plenty of times. One day, he decides, he'll do that too, and it won't matter if he can't reach something.

"You probably shouldn't be having that just now," Lucius observes, but smiles anyway, giving his grandson a conspiratorial look. "Let's not tell your mother."

"'Kay." Scorpius has his biscuit, he has his grandfather, and all is well with the world.

***

"_Pleeeeease_?"

Draco stares at his son, feeling his resistance crumble. "Well... all right. We have room on the Manor grounds. Just be careful."

The four-year-old claps his hands in delight as his father pays the shopkeeper. They just need to get home, now, and he can fly on his very own broom.

It's a toy broom, of course, one that barely lifts above ground-level, but for a small child, even that much is thrilling, and a chance to fly like grown-ups do.

Scorpius skips and bounces along beside his father, still happy over the broom. "Are we going home now?" He wants to play with it as soon as possible.

"Not yet," Draco tells him.

Scorpius endures the next shop, despite the boredom of watching his father buy new quills, ink and parchment. He doesn't like shops where he isn't allowed to touch anything.

"Are we going home now?"

"Not yet."

"...Now?"

"No, Scorpius, not yet."

"What about now?"

Draco just sighs. In retrospect, he thinks, bringing a child in the 'multitudes of questions' stage may have been a slight error in judgement.

"Now?"

"...Yes, Scorpius. We're going home now."

Scorpius whoops in delight, and holds his father's hand all the way home.

_Draco sat and watched as his son flew, toes just skimming the grass. There was something pleasant about it. It wasn't just his fondness for seeing Scorpius enjoying himself._

_No, this reminded him of Hogwarts. It reminded him of flying, playing Quidditch, back when his only concerns had been those of children. He'd wanted to be the best, back then, but it had been a more innocent ambition, before he'd become entangled in Dark plots and sinister goals._

_It was a better time to remember, and he silently promised himself that he would do whatever it took to ensure that his son retained that kind of innocence far longer than Draco himself had._

"Scorpius," he calls. "It's getting dark out. You can fly again tomorrow. Come in, now."

With a minimum of grumbling, Scorpius obeys. Together, they walk inside, into light and warmth. The gathering dusk outside is no place for them.

***

"Dad, why does Julie's dad not want her and Eric talking to me?"

Draco sighs. He's been anticipating a question like this for a while now. He gestures for his son, eight years old and serious-faced, to sit down beside him. "Because of the War, Scorpius. A lot of bad things happened back then. Your grandfather and I made some... mistakes. People got hurt. That kind of thing gets remembered for a long time."

"But why aren't they supposed to talk to me?" Scorpius asks, not quite understanding yet.

"...People are afraid that you'll turn out like we did, and make the kind of mistakes we made."

"Why _wouldn't_ I want to turn out like you?" Scorpius just looks at him.

"Scorpius..." Draco has to pause for a moment. Somewhere along the way, he seems to have become someone his son can admire and want to emulate. The realisation feels better than any Cheering Charm could. "...I'll be proud of you. I wasn't someone you should be like, back then."

"So I'll be like you are now," Scorpius announces simply.

"You do that, if you choose." Draco swallows the lump in his throat and manages a smile. "You do that."

***

"If you need _anything_, anything at all, send an owl to let us know. Or even if you just want to write to keep in contact," Astoria insists, folding and packing away last-minute additions to her son's luggage.

"I'll be fine, Mum," Scorpius assures her.

In truth, he reflects as they head to the station, he's not entirely certain on that. He's going to be away from his family for so _long_ at Hogwarts. He's never been away that long before. He's going to miss them, he knows it. Not having his parents and grandparents around, always ready to make time for him if he needs them, is a strange and frightening prospect.

Not that he'd admit he's afraid, of course. His mother is nervous enough for both of them. Besides, he's a Malfoy, isn't he? Malfoys don't let themselves get frightened by new things. Malfoys are better than that. He should be confident, ready to go and prove himself amongst the other students.

Maybe if he pretends long enough, he'll feel more confident in reality. He hopes so, anyway.

Then, they're at the station, waiting for the train to arrive. Scorpius looks around curiously. The other kids here are ones he's going to be going to school with, after all. He wonders what they're like.

He spots a cluster of kids, a number of whom are very clearly related. Several have red hair. Amongst them... Scorpius recognises the black-haired man shepherding some of the younger ones back into the group. His father has told him a lot about Harry Potter. He's never quite understood the strange tone his father uses when he confirms that yes, Harry Potter is a hero. Everyone knows that.

"There's the train. Good luck," his mother murmurs, and then hugs him tightly.

His father just rests a hand on his shoulder. "You'll do fine. No matter what happens, you're going to make us proud."

Buoyed by this assurance, Scorpius manages to stand a little straighter. He can do this. With that thought in mind, he steps onto the train.

"_You're the Malfoy kid."_

_Scorpius looked around at the older boys, nervousness imparting to him a touch of defiance. "Yeah, I am. So what?"_

"_So your dad's a slimeball, that's what. And your grandad too." One of them folded his arms, smirking a bit._

"_They are not." He glared._

"My_ dad reckons they ought to be in Azkaban. They just weaselled out of it."_

"_I don't care what your dad thinks," Scorpius snapped. "I don't care what my dad used to be, he's not like that anymore. And I'm proud of him no matter what _you_ think."_

"_You hear? He's proud of his Death Eater daddy." There was sniggering._

"_You shut up about my family!"_

"_Or what? Going to curse me? Going to sic your dad's buddies on us? Oh wait, you can't. They're all dead or locked up. You probably should be too, you're going the same way."_

"_Leave him alone." Another boy of Scorpius's age stepped from a nearby compartment. He was visibly nervous, but not letting it stop him. "It's not right, picking on people for their families."_

"_Whatever you say." The apparent leader of the older boys rolled his eyes. "Come on, this is boring." He and his friends sauntered off down the train._

"_...Thanks." Scorpius looked over at his benefactor._

"_It's nothing. It wasn't fair of them." The other boy gave a slightly embarrassed smile. "I'm Albus Potter."_

"_Scorpius Malfoy." He looked at Albus interestedly. From the brief sight of Harry Potter earlier, Albus seemed to have taken after him quite distinctively._

"_You can sit in here with us, if you want," Albus offered._

"_Thanks." He followed Albus into the compartment, where a redheaded girl was sitting, reading a very thick book._

"_This is my cousin, Rose Weasley. Rose, this is Scorpius, I said he could sit in here with us if that's okay."_

"_Hi." Rose looked up from her book. She smiled a little. "Are you nervous too? Where do you think you'll go?"_

"_Slytherin," Scorpius stated confidently. "All my family's been there."_

"_We're hoping to be Gryffindor," Albus noted quietly._

"_Good luck, then." Scorpius headed over to the door as the trolley came past. Buying a few things, he returned to his seat. "Chocolate Frog?"_

"_Sure, thanks." Albus grinned suddenly, the quiet nervousness disappearing. He caught the sweets Scorpius tossed easily, passing one to Rose._

Outside their compartment, Scorpius hears the murmuring of other voices, other conversations between other people. They don't matter, though. He's just fine in here, talking to these two.

At some point on the journey, they start to realise it – they aren't just getting along. They're _friends_, or heading that way.

The train winds on along its way. The past lies behind them... the future unfolds before them. From whatever Scorpius can see, they're going to make it a good one.

_-fin-_

* * *

**A/N:** And there we go. Quite possibly my longest fic to date. I hope you liked it. Reviews very welcome. :)


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